His Word
by Kiana Unei
Summary: The sequal to 'the Greater Good'. Must read that first. In this one, Sirius pits himself and his soul against a greedy theif, and finds himself between a rock and a hard place when a dark, imprisoned Immortal forces him to help her escape the Netherworld-
1. I: Tomarrow, Azkaban awaits

His Word  
  
By Kiana Unei  
  
  
  
  
  
Okay- the time passed between when Wesson escaped from Azkaban and the previous chapter is two weeks. Just to let you know.  
  
Also, Because the plot had turned, I figured this would be better off as a sequal.  
  
J K Rowling owns Harry and his world.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter XVII:  
  
Ginny  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"From the Ministry?" Mr Weasley asked, noting the hardened expression on Black's face as he shoved the letter none too gently into a pocket of his cloak. The man shook his head, ignoring the dark strands of hair that shifted into his eyes with the movement. Taking a last look at his withdrawn guest, Arthur made his way quietly back into the kitchen.  
  
"Bloody terrific," Sirius grumbled, massaging his face with a hand. "Tomarrow I'm shoved back into Azkaban, but, oh, no, you couldn't let it end there, could you? No, NOW I've got to find that bugger Wesson, and somehow free a goddess . . ! I wonder what I've done to deserve this. Did I mess up in some previous life?" He sighed heavily. Wesson had probably sold the Crest already; Sirius'd have a hell of a job trying to find it again. Maybe if he went to NeuroTech, and forced the man to tell him to whom the artifact now belonged . . . He'd have to escape Azkaban again- in four months it might be too late.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
Sirius started, then looked quickly around to find the Weasley girl hanging upside-down from the stairail.  
  
"Don't know." He wondered breifly if he should, as the nearest adult, tell her to get off before she hurt herself. "How old do I look?"  
  
The girl shrugged, a dificult feat to manage whilst hanging precariously over a staircase. "Dunno. When I saw your picture you looked about fifty-" Sirius winced, grimacing. "-now, though . . . I dunno. Thirty- eight? Thirty?"  
  
"Let's go with thirty." Sirius decided, even knowing that he couldn't possibly be that young.  
  
"Okay." The girl swung her legs around so she was seated on top of the rail, then slid off. "Got any kids?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Married?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ever been in love?"  
  
". . .Once. Long time ago." Sirius turned away, intently studying the dish of cranberries.  
  
"What happened? Oh, wait- sorry, dumb question." She hopped up onto the chair next to him, kicking at the table's support leg. "Harry says you're Scottish. Where you from?"  
  
"Scotland."  
  
"I KNOW that!" She pulled an exasperated look. "WHERE in Scotland?"  
  
"Don't remembre." Sirius ran a hand through his hair, feeling stupid. Knowing that he was innocent had let him remembre who he was, yes . . . but details from his life had been remouved with an almost surgical percision thanks to the effects of the Dementors.  
  
"Oh." She stared quizzically at him for a time, then said, ". . .You don't sound much like a Scotsman."  
  
"Erm, I've been living in England since . . . for a long time." Damn, there's another detail missing.  
  
"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley's voice echoed from the kitchen. "Take out the rubbish, would you?"  
  
"Mum! Make Ron do it," the girl protested.  
  
"Ginny, now! We'll be eating soon."  
  
"O. . .kay. . ." she heaved a downtrodden sigh, then strolled from the parlour, dragging her feet as though she were being led to the gallows.  
  
Sirius chuckled quietly to himself, thinking that perhaps having a child or two wouldn't be such a bad idea . . . if he could ever find anyone stupid enough to want to marry the likes of him. Well, maybe somebody blind . . . Sirius shuddered, seeing the prison photo of himself burned unhappily onto the insides of his eyelids. How long would it take before he looked better? He still hadn't looked in a mirrior since before Azkaban, and had no intintion of ever doing so again.  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
"Thanks, Ginny, dear," Mrs Weasley said absently as her daughter heaved the sac of rubbish onto her shoulder, overemphisizing her obvious disgust. "Where have you been? I figured you'd want to see Harry." She gave the girl a sly grin.  
  
"Oh, just talking to Mr Black." Ginny tugged on the handle of the kitchen door, then again when it refused to budge.  
  
"And . .?"  
  
"He's nice." She threw her weight into it, and the door opened with a loud BANG.  
  
"Mum, isn't dinner ready yet?" Ron had come sniffing into the room.  
  
"No. What are you and Harry doing?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"'Nothing'?" She gave him a Look. "Oh, well- just as long as you aren't doing anything dangerous."  
  
"Nah, just playing badmitten with Pig."  
  
Mrs Weasly began a reply, but the peircing scream of a girl cut through the air like a cold knife.  
  
"GINNY!" She snatched up her wand and charged through the kitchen door, out into the night.  
  
It had stopped snowing, but the ground was couvered still with it. The first of the season. The air was deathly silent; even Ron's chickens held their metaphoricle toungs at the tangible stench of darkness.  
  
"What!? Where is she!?" Sirius Black flung open the front door, and shoved through the row of hedges seperating the garden from the street. In the silvery light of the splinter of a moon, the world had taken on an eathereal appearence; trees twisted like many broken fingers, clawing at the sky for relief, shadows snaked across the ground, dancing in strange and wild movements, and the undergrowth of the garden seemed alive- the spirits of many dark, hulking beasts. And, lieing in the centre of them all, was the sprawled form of Ginny Weasley.  
  
Mrs Weasley dropped to her knees beside the girl, feeling her forehead. "Ginny? Can you hear me? Ginny?"  
  
"Pulse is weak," Black mumbled hurridly. "What happened?"  
  
"I-I don't know!" the woman gathered up the broken girl, being careful not to hurt her. "Ron, get your father! Quickly!"  
  
Ron took off across the lawn, and Sirius got to his feet as well. "I'm going to get Harry. Make sure he's all right."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: More soon- sorry it's short. 


	2. II: Rouge

His Word  
  
by Kiana Unei  
  
  
  
'Does Ginny have a role in this?' Yes. Something happened to her that becomes a plot issue. 'Does Sirius really look *that* bad?' Well . . . what kind of a judge can he be if he hasn't seen himself in a mirrior since before he went to Azkaban?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter XVIII:  
  
Breaking Point  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"HARRY!" Sirius took the old staircase three steps at a time, feeling ill. He reached the top and whirled around, trying to figure the lay of the sprawling rooms. A light was on, coming from undernieth a door down one hall- Sirius beat at it with his fist until the occupant allowed him enterance. "Harry?"  
  
The boy looked startled. "Sirius? What's wrong?"  
  
"I don't know. Something happened to the Weasley girl."  
  
"Ginny?" Harry shrugged into his jumper. "Where? What?"  
  
"In the garden. I don't know. She's unconsious." He looked the boy over, solidifying his knowlage that Harry was, at least for the moment, safe. "Come on, kiddo- let's head downstairs where there's more light."  
  
He took the boy by the arm, keeping a firm grip on him as they decended the steps, afraid Harry might vanish at any moment.  
  
The girl was lieing streached out on the Weasley's battered couch, eyes dark slits against her pale skin, being attended to by none other than Mme Pomfrey. The doctor looked up when the two entered. "Hello, Harry. Black." The last was said with more than a little contempt, spawned most likely from not only years of distrust, but also the man's recent conviction. From her cold gaze, Sirius realized that the woman figured him as a more-than-likely suspect for the youngest Weasley's ailment.  
  
"What happened?" Harry made his way across the soft carpet to Pomfrey's side, where he was given an impatient look.  
  
"I don't know. She's suffering from the after-effects of a mild seziure, shock, and is now comatose. The cause is unknown, but it seems to be a poison."  
  
"Poison?" Mrs Weasley's voice was tight and pained. Her husband squeezed her arm gently. "Who would do that? Why?"  
  
Pomfrey shook her head. "I've no idea." She snuck a glance at Sirius. "What questionable strangers have been around her recently?"  
  
"We can narrow it down furthur than that," a cold voice emerged from the lit fire, and seconds later, so did a man.  
  
"You," Sirius hissed, glaring darkly at the Hogwarts Potion's Master. Snape gave him an equally detesting look.  
  
"What are the symptoms?" Mme Pomfrey quickly related them, and Snape knelt by the girl's side. "Could be any number of things. You said she just collapsed?"  
  
Mrs Weasley shook her head. "I don't know . . . I wasn't there."  
  
"Was she acting peculiar before . . ?" Snape continued his questioning. "Showing any unusual behaviour? Over-alert, excited, subdued?"  
  
"She was hanging upside-down from the stairail," Sirius put in helpfully. Snape gave him a withering stare. Quickly, he added, "She seemed to be moving around quite a bit; figiting. I thought-"  
  
"You thought?" Snape sneered with faux amazement. "Good God, Hell must be going through an ice-age."  
  
"Shut it, you stupid bugger," Sirius made to give the man a guesture, but ran the hand through his hair instead, catching sight of Harry. It wouldn't do to give the boy any ideas.  
  
"'Figiting'. The girl is what? Fourteen? Children figit, Black; it's one of the annoying little games they play to occupy themselves around less- than-agreeable company." He shot the man a nasty look.  
  
"And I'm sure you're the expert on watching children figit," Sirius sneered back.  
  
"I spent seven years around you, the moron, the werewolf, and that coward, so yes, I do know quite a bit about the subject."  
  
"You-"  
  
"ENOUGH!" Mrs Weasley planted the palm of her hand against Sirius' chest and shoved him backwards, keeping him from going after Snape. "My daughter is very ill, and I WON'T have you bickering with eachother like children!"  
  
"Quite." Snape peered down his long nose at the other man, smiling triumphantly. He had, once again, gotten the score. "Thank you, Madam, for shutting up that irritating bugger- he never knows when to stop. Think, Black, you wouldn't have been arrested without a trial had you not gone after Pet-"  
  
"Oh, shut it!" Sirius spat out the words, working hard to keep his diamond-hard facade from breaking. Childishly, he wished for something hard to throw at the other.  
  
"Proffessor," Snape spoke coldly to Pomfrey, "I can't begin to test the girl's body for poisoning with that idiot hovering over me."  
  
"Black, if you don't mind," Pomfrey motioned to the door. "You've an apartment, haven't you?"  
  
"No," Sirius gave her a dark look, "the Ministry is waiting to compensate me until AFTER they throw me back in prison."  
  
"Then, please, go lock yourself in Azkaban; you'll get out a day earlier," Snape hissed from between the eight brightly coloured bottles he'd retrieved from a pocket of his robe.  
  
Sirius' eyes narrowed to slits carved in the blank look of his face. With a curt, mockery of a bow, he spun on his heel and strode almost iso metricaly to the door, then turned back. "Good night, Mr, Mrs Weasley. Hope she is all right. Ta, Harry."  
  
He closed the door softly behind him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Next chapter: Sirius uses his fifteen hours to locate Wesson, and other things develope. The Ministry is actually trusting him to show up at ten o'clock so they can throw him back into Azkaban?? Stupid of them. Sorry it's short- but I've got to do my homework. 


End file.
